


Cute Stitch Witch Discount

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [24]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Coffee Shops, M/M, Magic, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: He’s barely finished with his drink when Bucky appears in front of him, a cup in hand. “Our famous cocoa,” He says, setting it onto the little table next to Steve, “On the house.”Steve plucks the cup up off the table and cradles it close, inhaling the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. “Thank you,” Steve says, and then, “I can pay though, really.”“Call it the cute stitch witch discount,” Bucky says with a wink before he’s turning away and disappearing behind the counter to take care of another customer.In which Steve has magic, meets Bucky 70 years later, and as always, falls a little bit in love with him.





	Cute Stitch Witch Discount

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS MY VERY LAST HAPPY STEVE BINGO FIC, I COULD CRY. It's to fill the square "hidden magical powers."

Steve’s mother had carried her magic over on a boat from Ireland, tucked it close to her chest and wrapped in her shawl, letting no one know it’s secret. Later, when Steve was older, she’d taught him of what his hands could do, of the things they could create with a needle and a bit of thread, and of the secrets they must keep.

Steve learned to tuck his magic away just like his mother, to wrap it up and stow it away in the deep, quiet parts of himself where people couldn’t touch it.

When he’s brought out of the ice he does just that, curling his magic into the deepest part of him, somewhere SHIELD and the future couldn’t touch.

The uniform-

The new one that looks so much like the old one, the one that they want him to wear for some sense of nostalgia that Steve _doesn’t have_.

The new uniform is perfectly _fine_ , honestly. It’s _fine._ There’s nothing _wrong_ with it. Not _really._

It’s just not the _same._ It lacks the magic sewn into it by Steve, the tear at the hip where Peggy had ripped it trying to get Steve out of it, the blood stains Steve could never seem to get rid of. It feels cartoonish suddenly, too bright when Steve looks down at himself.

 _He_ feels cartoonish.

Too bright and shiny.

Something fabricated and put out for public consumption.

He ignores it, because what else is he supposed to do when there’s suddenly aliens to fight? When it’s not just the uniform with its lack of history and magic that doesn’t feel right, but his team, and this century, and every bit of himself that made it into the ice and out the other side.

He joins SHIELD, moves to D.C. and doesn’t touch his magic.

HYDRA falls and so does SHIELD and Steve- Steve is tempted to fall right along with them, but instead he tugs a thread, wraps it around himself and lands on the banks of the Potomac instead of beneath the water.

He tucks it back away after. He fights in Sokovia and doesn’t touch it.

He doesn’t touch it when he’s fighting Tony Stark over the Accords. Doesn’t tug at the increasingly unfamiliar threads of it when he goes on the run, or when Thanos appears.

When his friends and half the world turn to dust in front of him he _tries,_ but he has no idea how to weave his magic into anything that might even begin to help. In the end he doesn’t have to, because Carol Danvers saves the entire goddamn world without the help of Steve’s brittle magic.

Helping save the world from permanently losing half the population turns out to be an awfully good way to lose one’s status as a criminal. Steve takes advantage of it and buys an apartment in Brooklyn where maybe, just _maybe,_ he can finally let himself settle.

He buys an old sewing machine and sits at it at night, sewing up curtains and pillow covers, letting his magic flow through in a steady thrum until it’s shiny and strong, stitching protection and comfort and safety into his new home.

At the suggestion of Natasha he starts getting out of the apartment for more than Avengers related activities. Takes to the streets of Brooklyn and makes a goal of trying one new place each week.

Three weeks into the new routine he stumbles across a coffee shop that hums with magic. It’s subtle, but _there,_ the sort of thing that normal people ignore because they don’t know any better and that people with magic gravitate towards without meaning to.

The man behind the counter has dark hair tied up on the top of his head with a pen shoved through it, an apron with _‘THANKS A LATTE’_ printed across it and a name tag that declares him to be _‘Bucky’_ with a dinosaur sticker before the ‘ _B.’_ He also has a shiny looking prosthetic arm that looks exactly like anything else Steve has seen in this century but thrums with magic in a way Steve hasn’t.

The man squints at Steve for a moment then says, “Oh wow, you’re Steve Rogers.”

Steve waits for it, waits for the customary _‘Can I get a picture?’_ or _‘Would you sign this?’_ but it doesn’t come. Instead, Bucky stares at him for a moment like he’s waiting for Steve to continue and then apparently gives up and asks, “Uh, what can I get you?”

“Um-” Steve stares at the menu with all it’s options and suddenly feels absolutely lost. It’s a feeling he has less and less these days, being struck by all the options in the 21st century, but it’ still happens enough for it to feel familiar and well worn. “What do you recommend?”

The great thing about being a national icon that was trapped in ice for most of the last century is that _everyone_ wants to be the one to introduce him to the wonders of the world, even now that he’s been in the future for years. It means he can almost always trust that _someone_ will tell him what to get when he’s overwhelmed with the sheer number of choices there are these days.

“Depends. Do you like something sweet or do you like to feel like you’re still stuck in the army drinking coffee out of MREs?”

“Sweet. Definitely sweet.” Steve says promptly, something in him going all knotted when that gets a smile out of Bucky.

“I’m making you a cinnamon roll latte then. It’s good, trust me.”

Weirdly enough, Steve does.

Bucky is right and the coffee is delicious.

There’s what appears to be a reading nook, with bookshelves surrounding an area with couches and comfy chairs and Steve ends up there, folding himself into one of the squashy chairs with a book and his coffee.

He’s barely finished with his drink when Bucky appears in front of him, a cup in hand. “Our famous cocoa,” He says, setting it onto the little table next to Steve, “On the house.”

Steve plucks the cup up off the table and cradles it close, inhaling the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. “Thank you,” Steve says, and then, “I can pay though, really.”

“Call it the cute stitch witch discount,” Bucky says with a wink before he’s turning away and disappearing behind the counter to take care of another customer.

Steve keeps going back. Over the next six months he finds himself there at least once a week, telling Bucky to choose his drinks, and letting him press a mug into his hands with ‘this is a peppermint mocha,’ or ‘how about we try a dirty chai?’ And sometimes, when Steve’s having a particularly rough week, Bucky will gesture Steve past the register and into his comfortable chair as though Bucky can somehow sense something is going on. He’ll show up minutes later with a mug and a plate and a ‘Chamomile helps with stress,’ or ‘My ma swears by lemon balm.’

Today is one of those days and Steve finds himself following the silent order without questioning it- finds himself feeling _grateful_ for it if he’s honest.

Bucky shows up minutes later after passing the register off to Kate who always greets Steve with a ‘Hello Mister _Definitely_ -Not-Captain-America-Sir.’ He’s not carrying one of the customary mismatched mugs full of some sort of soothing tea, but is instead holding a paper to-go cup and a crinkly paper bag that he shoves into Steve’s hands.

“White chocolate mocha. So sweet it’s guaranteed to make your teeth hurt, you’ll love it.” Bucky says and Steve believes him. Bucky’s yet to fail him yet when it comes to surprise drinks. “Now, come on, we’re going on a walk.”

Steve stares for a moment but Bucky’s already pulling off his apron and chucking it behind the counter to Kate as he heads out of the shop so Steve makes what feels like the wise decision to follow.

They’re halfway down the block when Bucky flicks at Steve’s paper cup, “Drink up. I saw the news, this will help you feel better.”

Of course Bucky saw the news. Saw the people they hadn’t been able to save yesterday. He’s sure everyone’s seen it. Steve’s not surprised by that. What he’s surprised by is the fact that Bucky actually brought it up. Outside of the first time, the only mention of Steve being Captain America has been Kate’s teasing.

When he obeys Bucky and takes a drink the warmth spreads through him in a way that almost feels magical.

A little more than almost, actually.

“Hearth magic,” Bucky says when Steve shoots him a look, wiggling his fingers in what are some honestly pretty terrible jazz hands.

Just like this is the first time since that first day that Bucky’s brought up who Steve is, this is also the first time he’s mentioned magic again.

It makes it feel a little bit like something’s changed, shifted in some small way. Just a little, and barely noticeable, but still a shift.

“Is that what you have?” Steve asks, taking another drink of his coffee, chasing the warmth it and Bucky’s magic bring.

“More or less,” Bucky says with a shrug, “Now try the brownie. It’s my ma’s recipe, which means you have to love it or else it’s an affront to my mother.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” Steve says, the smile he hadn’t been able to drag up since yesterday finally bubbling up. He breaks the brownie in half, offering one half to Bucky and taking a bite out of the other, “It’s delicious. Now, where are we going?”

“I told you, we’re going on a walk.”

A couple blocks, three-quarters of Steve’s coffee, and all of his brownie later and they’re in the one part of Brooklyn Steve’s never managed to bring himself back to.

“This is-”

“Where you grew up, yeah,” Bucky answers with a bit of a grin, “It’s also where I live. I grew up in that building right there.”

Steve follows Bucky’s pointing finger to a building that’s only three down from the one Steve grew up in.

“My Great-Gran’s got a story about you chasing off a couple bigger kids who were messing with her cat. Hell, I’m pretty sure anyone who’s got family that’s been here for forever has a grandparent with a story about little Stevie Rogers,” Bucky says, and then pokes Steve in the side, “Finish up your coffee, you’re coming with me on a couple errands.”

The first errand turns out to be in Steve’s old building. It looks as different as anything these days do, but Steve thinks if he closes his eyes he’d be able to hear the neighbors upstairs arguing and his ma humming while she patched a pair of his pants up, weaving healing and strength into the fabric.

“Mrs. Gilroy, this is Steve. Steve, this is Mrs. Gilroy.” Bucky says, gesturing between the two of them.

Mrs. Gilroy is old and gray, with gnarled hands and a smile that makes her look fifteen years younger as she looks at Bucky and asks “So this is the boy you’ve been talking about for months now?”

Bucky’s cheeks look distinctly pink and there’s that familiar knotted yarn feeling, the one that comes about when Bucky smiles particularly bright or Steve says something that makes him laugh or blush.

“You talk about me, huh?” Steve teases and Bucky rolls his eyes at him and shoves at his shoulder.

“Shuddup Rogers and get to work.” Bucky says as he shoves a basket of thread into Steve’s hands.

At the end of the day Steve’s sewn magic into four different lives while Bucky did things like tidying up Mrs. Gilroy’s apartment or stirring Old Mrs. Lawson’s soup. Steve had had to refocus himself more than a few times when he got distracted watching Bucky work.

When they’re done- when night has fallen and Bucky’s unlocking the door to the shop to let them inside, Steve finds that it’s _helped._ He feels lighter somehow, like the day’s activities have taken the weight of the previous day and made it just that little bit easier to bear.

“It helps to help,” Bucky says, grabbing a rag to wipe down a spot on the counter someone had missed before closing, “I didn’t really care about magic and all that shit growing up. You know how it is. Shit’s like fight club. First rule of magic is don’t tell people about magic. So I guess I figured it was easier to just not use it. It’s not like hearth magic is considered interesting to a teenage boy anyway. And then I joined the army and came back without an arm and with a brain that felt like swiss cheese.”

“Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“ _Steve,”_ Bucky cuts in before Steve can really get into an apology, “Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. This story’s got a point though. Kind of.”

“You ever gonna make it then?” Steve asks, schooling his expression into his best innocent look and earning a slap to his shoulder from Bucky’s rag.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Bucky says, all faux wisdom. Though Steve thinks maybe it’s not at all fake. Bucky knew who Steve was the moment he saw him, knew not to draw attention to it, has known the exact kind of tea to help and the right words to say for the last six months. “So I came back, and I was a goddamn mess for a while. My sister’s got a friend who specializes in this kind of shit though,” Bucky gestures to his arm, “So they got me all fixed up with this and then my ma let me wallow for a good long while before she finally gave me a nice kick in the ass.”

“Family’s pretty good for that,” Steve says, following Bucky through the back when he gestures for Steve to follow.

“The shop’s been in the family for as long as anyone can remember, so Ma dumped my ass out of her house and put me to work here,” Bucky leads Steve up a set of stairs and into a small, tidy apartment, talking all the way, “And then she started dragging me along with her to help people out and then before I knew it she was sending me by myself to do it. It helped. It’s a little bit harder to wallow when Mrs. Gilroy is bossing you around and trying to pry all your secrets out of you, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says, soft as he looks around Bucky’s space. If someone had asked him this morning what he thought he’d be doing with his day he definitely wouldn’t have said it’d end with him in Bucky’s apartment. “Now, about that point you were saying you had?”

“My _point_ , Rogers, is that sometimes what’s gonna help is just being a dude with magic helping out some old ladies instead of Captain America bearing the weight of the goddamn world on your unnaturally broad shoulders.”

There’s quiet after Bucky makes his point but then he insists on making dinner and insists on Steve _helping_ him make dinner.

Steve warns him of the fact that this could go _badly,_ but somehow it doesn’t. Somehow Bucky and Steve produce food that is entirely edible and don’t set any fires to anything, which Steve thinks is honestly a little bit of a miracle considering Steve’s normal abilities in the kitchen.

“Go to dinner with me?” Steve asks midway through a plate of pasta eaten at the old wood table in Bucky’s kitchen.

“Rogers, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re eating dinner right now.”

“No, I know, I mean _go to dinner with me._ As in a date? I know you’re not supposed to ask service workers out on dates but this isn’t exactly a normal barista customer relationship so I was just thinking maybe you’d like to go to dinner with me? Or a movie. Or anyhwere you’d like, honestly. I would have said coffee but I get the feeling coffee wouldn’t be your first choice of a date.”

“ _Steve,”_

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

They go to dinner. They go to dinner _a lot._ They also go to the movies, farmers markets, museums, festivals, and even a few times out to brunch. A couple months in Bucky even takes Steve home to meet his ma and sisters. Anywhere Bucky wants to take him, Steve goes, and he finds that most the time whatever it is Bucky wants to introduce him to is more than worth it. 

Steve’s once a week stops into the coffee shop also becomes a damn near daily occurrence, and Steve gets used to having a place that feels a little bit like his. To having somewhere to go when things go bad and he needs to feel a little bit more like Steve Rogers and a little bit less like Captain America.

It’s not until Tony Stark says “Hey Cap, the holiday party’s on Thursday, you’re coming,” that Steve realizes he’s also let all of it, Bucky included, stay separate from Captain America.

“About that,” Steve says, blurting it out before he can think better of it, “Can I get a plus one?”

“I’m at a Stark Holiday party,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear, disbelieving and awe-struck, “I’m at a _Stark Holiday party.”_

“You’re at a Stark Holiday party.” Steve agrees, lacing their fingers together and giving Bucky’s hand a good squeeze.

“I’m at a party with all of the Avengers. Jesus, _all_ of the Avengers are here aren’t they?”

“It’s our party, we tend to be here.” Steve says, something unbearably warm and fond filling him up until he can’t help but tug Bucky in to kiss him.

When they pull apart Bucky is flushed and bright eyed and it makes Steve want to kiss him all over again.

“So, you gonna introduce me to your friends or are we gonna stand here and make out all night?”

“I don’t know, I’m tempted to stay here and keep you all to myself. I think I’ve changed my mind. They’re gonna like you too much and then you’ll get all caught up in being friends with the Black Widow and never have time for me.” Steve says, already tugging Bucky further into the room and towards his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [tumblr](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)!


End file.
